


Before the Apple

by Control_Alt_Delete



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Creation behind the scenes (Good Omens), Gen, Genesis (Good Omens), Hell (Good Omens) - Freeform, Lord of Hell Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), he didn't want to be named Crawly it just happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 06:33:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Alt_Delete/pseuds/Control_Alt_Delete
Summary: After the fall, they didn't know what to do. A lot of things happened before they sent a certain demon up though.





	Before the Apple

When they fell, the Fallen did not know what to do. 

It was dark and cold, and everyone was miserable. Rage, regret, and sorrow stained the air around them, and it materialized into slime that greased the cavern walls. For a few hundred years, it stayed like this, and the once vibrant beings of light slowly dimmed away as they curled up in the same spot where they landed. Dust, earth, and scabs covered their shivering forms; Scorched wings were not much good for keeping heat in. Every few decades, someone would let out a sigh, or a quiet sob, or a cough, but other than that, it was maddeningly quiet. It was a miracle that none of them have gone insane, but then, if someone did, no one would notice anyway. Everyone missed home though, but no one even dared to bring it up. 

Things began to change around the beginning of the tenth millennia. Suddenly, there was heat, and too much of it. Everyone started to stir and mumble, and those who's landing sites were closer to each other's began to exchange small comments about the temperature and the stink. The heat intensified over time, but the Fallen, strong and resilient creatures that they once were, held on to their newly-developed stubbornness. They sat through what seemed an eternity of darkness, after all. And so they claimed that they didn't really mind. They couldn't help but complain though, and so most conversations were about their discomfort, not that they had a problem with it. Most of them was just glad to have some company again, really. 

Give or take five centuries after the last, someone caught fire. It was around the time when the walls radiated, sweat bubbled and evaporated, and the air smelt like burning feathers. The fire lit the entire place in faint dancing rays and the closest angels saw the form disintegrate within the flames. The flame didn't die out so they steered clear of it, and no one talked about what happened to poor Soliel. What was important was that they could see again, and the Fallen began to roam about and seek out old faces. 

It took them less than an hour to figure out that the flames cannot harm them. 

Just as they were starting to enjoy the benefits of the light and heat, some spots on the cavern ceiling began to leak. Water dripped everywhere and in a matter of time, the entire place was a mess of disgusting puddles and filthy muddy forms who slipped and fell into them. The slime on the walls improved, rather disgustingly and more slippery-gooey and with a nastier color and odor, the way slimes could. The Fallen, on the other hand, fell into a state of lazy anarchy. Dry spots were fought over, and so the leaders of the first rebellion took it upon themselves to seize power over the new domain for the sake of peace.

The new order of things turned out quite well, at least for the most part. Under new rule, laws and regulations were established, leaders were coerced and reassigned to their rightful places, and the whole business of falling through a pool of burning sulfur and into the abysmal pit was brought into the open, finalized, and accepted. As a vital part of the program, the place was renamed "Hell", and no one complained, mainly because everyone was getting rather tired of the ambiguity. Open forums and group sessions were conducted for the ones who were still in denial, and therapy [the closest to it, anyway, considering their condition] was provided for those who took it worse than the others. The whole lot, all ten million of them, went under clockwork routine for centuries, with the leaders rotating shifts every few decades to alternate being a counselor and a counselee. 

The Fallen did not like the sessions at first, especially those who were literally crushed and down so low that they had to be ripped off the ground. But then, a silver tongue brought them there in the first place, so it was only a matter of a few speeches from their leader and some scripted testimonies from his constituents to get everyone going. During one of his speeches, particularly the one about how their old purpose was based in a tyrannical factory of shite ruled by an overbearing and perfectionistic control-freak, the leader decided to drive a point by damning his given name to oblivion and renaming himself Satan. As an added boost, he announced that from then on, they were to be called "Demons", because "Fallen" tethered them to the other side and they were free, dammit. Everyone cheered, everyone was renamed, and everyone went on to attend their next group session with more self-esteem than when they first started their existence. 

A millennium later, strange things began to rise from the damp ground. Moss began to carpet some parts of the cavern and the demons sought these cool fluffy patches of land. None of them wanted to admit it, but they missed the feeling of lying on something soft. Mold began to form on the walls as well, and with that, the stink faded slightly, and everything felt a little less… shitty. 

Panic embraced the Fallen once again during the fifteenth millennia. It was then that all manner of disgusting beings emerged through the cracks and holes on the ground. Everyone rushed to the flames when it became apparent that it was bad-bad. In a torrent of feet, claws, and wings, as well as shells and fins, the beings went on their own accord and attached themselves to some demons, particularly the leaders who stood at the front. As they huddled in a protective mass of feathers and limbs within the flames, the affected demons merged into the beings that latched on to them, the way a dying candle would melt onto another. 

After a while, when most of them has stopped screaming and panicking, Satan called his self-assigned governing body to form a council to figure out what has happened to them. After some debates and arguments, both through words and combat, a valid explanation was formulated. It presented three points:

[1] All things created contain a sliver of light from the creator, which also means that the creator has started creating again;

[2] They have obviously lost this light; and

[3] The sliver of light and the flame must have patched them up. 

It was as good as any theory can get, but one thing was certain: When the dust settled, it was obvious that the affected demons were reborn.

In patient time, give or take decades of excruciating trial and error, the Lords [as the reborn demons began calling themselves] learned that they were capable to take on forms of flesh and blood, mainly of their representative creature. This amused them, and they swore to never return to their dimmed out celestial forms, which was rather dull and depressing. For a while, Hell was teeming with creatures going about their ways, scaling the walls and burrowing holes, until a Lord with a penchant to change into different forms thought of taking his old winged celestial appearance and recreating it with flesh and blood. After this discovery, the particular Lord was made a Duke, and the others followed suit and adapted the forms that they will constantly inhabit throughout their existence.

But then one day, the beings stopped coming. Satan set his constituents in a state of panic once again as a riot began to form outside his court.

"Something must be done!" he demanded. A crown of horns grew out of his head as he said this, and Beelzebub, the Prince of Hell who stood in front of him, locked eyes with him with calm venom. 

"They stopped," zey said with finality, as a swarm of black flies buzzed around zir face, "What do you suggest we do, zzir?"

"Find them," Satan ordered. 

"That's the problem, sir," said a smiling Duke with slimy skin to the King. This Duke's name is Dagon. "Something must have happened up there."

They all looked up to the ceiling with dread. 

"The creatures found their way here because of some form of chaos… up there", Dagon cleared her throat, "But now we think something's keeping them in place, monitoring them. This is why the supply stopped."

The others nodded eagerly with this information, but the King was not yet pleased. "Do you have proof of this?" he asked.

The smiling Duke looked to the Prince for support. The Prince glared at the other Dukes behind them. The pale Duke with beady black eyes who was called Hastur nodded stiffly and spoke first. ��"We could," he cringed as he thought hard, "Send someone up?" he suggested.

"To create chaos, yes!" the Duke beside him agreed. His name is Ligur, and his eagerness is due to his newly assigned rank. He looked at the others, his eyes changing from a bright orange to a sickly green, before adding, "If my King would allow it."

Satan looked form Ligur to Hastur , and both took a quiet step back. "Dukes, who would climb up?" he growled. Hastur shook his head, and Ligur looked down. 

Satan clicked his tongue. "Hastur--"

"Wait," the Duke interrupted, "Perhaps we should send one of our best. A Prince of Hell, perhaps? With such a small demonic being with wings, it would be easy to--"

Beelzebub droned his defense over the sound of Hastur's hacking as he choked on a fly.

"It would be risky to send one of high rank, as it would be expected for whatever is up there to be heavily guarded. If I may suggest, I say Princes and Dukes are out of the question, except if the Dukes are idiots. Lords and those of lower ranks, perhaps, since it's only as a test run."

Satan nodded as he considered the Prince's point. "Anyone else? Dukes," he called. The demons looked down almost immediately, except one.

"Sir, I disagree with one thing from the last. In my opinion, common demons should not be sent up."

"Why is that?" Satan asked with a smile; it was getting interesting.

"They are powerless sir, and their forms are fragile. The Lords, on the other hand…" 

Satan nodded. It has been decided.

"Hastur," Satan called.

The Duke swallowed drily before uttering a quick, "Sir?"

"Among the Lords, who should it be?"

Hastur thought for a moment, then a malevolent smile crossed his face. 

"Crawly."

The members of the court smiled.

xxx

He named himself well. 

It fit, and it was perfect, hell, his new life was perfect. Even when the poor old sod burned and they all sat around to watch, and even when the walls started leaking, he was doing quite well. He was good with mossy patches of land, and he knew where to find the best spots. He got a lot of demons looking up to him and he was sure he'd be given a seat at the council real soon, but then, it happened. The thing happened. Everyone was running towards the flames. A tsunami of animals was close behind them. They were animals, he was sure of it, he's worked on some of them but he's never seen so many. He cursed under his breath as he willed his feet to pad faster over the muddy puddles and rocks. He lost a bit of time frozen as he looked up at all the colors and forms, drifting back to when he was still there. He was thankful of the hard slap when another demon ran into him. He ran with the last few. He was nearly there, he could almost feel the heat of the first ring of flame, but then, he stepped on a slippery rock and he fell as the wave crashed down. 

When he opened his eyes, demons were scattered into groups and a small one has gathered around him. The first thing he noticed was the fact that he couldn't move. Something large was coiled around him. He called for help, but no one dared to touch the hissing creature that help onto him tight. He couldn't even stand.

After a while, the crowd lost interest and scattered, and from where he lay, he saw that he wasn't the only one with an animal attached, but everyone else's was considerably small compared to whatever it was that was claiming him. They looked different, he saw this, but he was desperate, so as soon as someone walked close enough to reach, he held on to their foot. 

It was Hastur, but his eyes were different. Hastur pulled his foot away and looked down at him. The demon smiled, and amusement glistened in his gaze. "Go to the flame," he said. Then he patted a nearby demon's shoulder.

He looked up at the demons, but Hastur only gestured towards the flame again. With an annoyed sigh, he gritted his teeth and began to crawl. They began to laugh. Soon, half of hell was watching, but he kept on going. 

At least he didn't roll. 

xxx

Crawly was relaxing on a warm spot between two smooth rocks and a wall when they found him. He liked his demon form, no arms, nor legs; It was… minimalist. Simple. Convenient. It was smooth, shiny, and fast. He tucked his form deep into the space, talking in the heat and quiet. Until someone took hold of his tail.

It didn't matter how much he hissed. They pulled him out and overturned a number of scales in the process, and before he knew it, he was in the presence Beelzebub himself. 

"Make yourself decent," demanded the Prince of Hell.

"I am decent," he hissed back. 

Beelzebub sighed in annoyance. "I bring orders form the King of Hell, and you… Lord Crawly," ze stifled a laugh, "Shall present yourself in your stadard form in my presence, as cited in the Proclamation of Lordzzz."

He closed his eyes and changed. It took a few attempts to finally get right. His feet felt wrong. He felt wrong. Through his minor discomfort he looked at Beelzebub and made a tiny bow, "At your service."

"Good," ze said. Without a waring, directions began appearing in his head. 

Beelzebub nodded and turned to leave. 

"Wait wait wai…" he called, still trying to steady himself on his feet. "Bring animals back here? What? How'm I supposed to do that?"

Beelzebub took a deep annoyed breath. "Just get up there… and make some trouble." 

"B-but specifically… what do you want me to do? What do you mean?"

Beelzebub debated internally whether ze should keep going or just let things be. After a quick second, ze decided that the effort wasn't worth the time and besides, ze wasn't even paid for it. Everyone wins whether he fails or succeeds anyway, so ze just walked away. It was just a test run, after all. 

As soon as the Prince was out of sight and he was alone again, Crawly returned to his preferred form. With an already tired sigh, he began looking for a decent-sized crack on the wall to slither through.

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> This runs on a headcanon where the seven days of creation ran on celestial time where a minute is a significant number of Earth years. I also don't know if they fell before or after the creation so I am so sorry if I messed things up. 
> 
> Tell me what you think of it below :] Thanks


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